


Woeful Valentine

by MissedTheMartian (RetrospectiveNeglect)



Category: DCU
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth Cameo, Basically Harley having a bad time, C-PTSD, Covertly Caring Batman, F/M, Gen, Kind of Hurt/Comfort, Meltdown, Minor Injuries, No Romance, Overtly Caring Robin, implied emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetrospectiveNeglect/pseuds/MissedTheMartian
Summary: Getting caught under the wreckage of a factory sure does leave a person with a lot of time to think.  Harley just wishes she did not have to.





	Woeful Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> Hover over Harley's dialogue for clarification.

" _Ah can't breathe _ " That was what woke Harley up. Not the pain caused by the impact, not the stones, not even the smoke, but the burning of her lungs. Coughing, she starts hitting the solid weight pushing down on her. _Move it, Numbnuts!_   It was too heavy.

The coughing does not stop. Slumping down, Harley tries to calm herself so that she can just _breathe._ _Don't panic now, Harley. _Y'can still breathe._ _ An eternity later the coughing stops. Her throat hurts with each breath, but it does not feel like drowning anymore.

"Ugh", she rasps out. Her eyebrows pinch together. _Is that mah voice?_ Headache. Her own thoughts are giving her a headache. Especially that whizzing noise in the background; like a huge, overfed fly going around and around in an endless circle. _No wonda Ah'm vexing._ She lets her eyes slowly flutter open, eyes darting to map the wreckage.

Looking straight ahead there is only smoke. Thick black smoke flowing upwards, through what is left of the ceiling. _ Where's t'fiah?_ Harley chuckles before flinching in pain. "Puddin'?", barely a whisper. She cannot remember where she is. "Puddin'?", a bit louder this time. Then she shouts.

"Puddin'!?", Harley's voice echoes through the room as she tries to shove the weight _off._ Her heels sliding against the floor, through pieces of rubble, as she is pressing up with all her might. The weight does not even budge. Screaming, she hits the rubble over and over and over again. Her palms sting in pain with each slam. _ Ah can't breathe. Ah can't breathe. Ah can't breathe._ Lifting her head up, inhaling deeply: " **Pudding** " Harley releases a throaty scream, "Ah can't breathe!" Tilting her head back, then slamming it back down to the floor. Harley feels a slight sting. Her vision turns black.

 

Waking up, there is a bright light hitting her face. It must be morning.

"Puddin', can y'pull t'drapes?" Harley's head lolls to the side, trying to escape the intensive beams.

When nothing changes, she tries rolling over completely; but, she cannot. Her eyes snap open. Momentarily blinded, all Harley sees is white. _Arkham?_ A laugh bubbles in her throat before it abruptly stops. A cold chill runs down her spine. The gray walls; the broken Valentine's Day Edition display boxes; the scattered teddies with glowing red heart-tummies and moving limbs. Some teddies were blown apart with their legs circling like makeshift mechanical minimalistic dogs.  Squinting her eyes, Harley tries to catch a glimpse of the sky far, far above. And she remembers.

Harley remembers the plan.

The Joker holding up one of the many teddy bears with a triumphant smile.

"A cute fluffy gift to keep your blood pumping, Valentine!" Laughing as he hugs the newest killer machine close.

Breaking into the ToyJoy factory had been easy; taping up the guards had been fun. Before anyone knew it, they were driving down the transportation section in a forklift, shooting the storage door lock - _Puddin'ad been impatient t'set'is plan t'work, as always!_ \- and turning on the lights. Row after row, the thousands, no twenty-thousands! of Fluffy Love teddy packages were illuminated where they were stacked neatly on the shelves.

Each package was opened; each stomach was torn up and stuffed with a tiny ticker ready to explode on command; each tummy carefully sewn back together. And the detonator? In the lover's hand as they attached the newly added heartbeat detector to their beloved Valentine, awaiting the Love O'Meter to show **Crazy in Love** and go _Boom!_ The instructions do carefully detail that the Valentine must hold Fluffy Love close to their hearts for it to work. Otherwise the fireworks will just be white and bland; not hot red, as is promised on the package.

"Aw!" Harley coos from the conveyor belt lever, surrounded by swiftly working henchmen. "May Ah 'ave uhn too?"

When he turns around, the Joker's smile has fallen into a tight black line. Harley instinctively gulps as her heart drops down to her stomach. The Joker lets the teddy dangle, staring her down from afar. Her grip on the lever falters slightly, before shakily stiffening again. The henchmen continue as usual.

Then the Joker swings his arm to the side, swooping down before elegantly flicking his hand up, throwing the teddy into the air. Reaching his other arm out towards her, palm facing up, his features soften.

"Oh", the Joker smiles out. "There will be a special one for _my_ Valentine!"

Harley squeaks, running to give her puddin' a hug. Just an arm's length away, she is stopped in her tracks by a single held up index finger.

"Not now, _Harley",_ he says the name like it is a curse. "We have work to do."

Not like it bothers Harley. She is the Joker's _Valentine_ , after all.

"Ohkay, Puddin'!" She straightens out before rushing back to production. All the while shouting abuse at the "No good slowpokes!" of henchmen.

It was all fun and fireworks for hours, until the bat brat and his Batdad showed up. The lights all went out. In a matter of minutes, most of the henchmen were tied up. Harley fought the littlest menace with her mullet, but made no hits that were damaging _enough_.

"Come back 'ere y'lil'brat!", Harley never got to end the sentence: She fell. The floor caved in right under her. Turns out there was a little more firepower than expected in love. _Like always._ The last thing Harley saw, was sparkling silver. The last thing Harley heard, was the Joker laughing as he rushed out through a window.

He probably drove away and got caught by the Batman. The Joker always gets caught by him. Just like he wants it; "The thrill of the futile chase!" If he cannot be caught, there is no point to run. Nothing to make him _feel alive_.

But, maybe he was not caught and is waiting to get her out? Biding his time until it is safe enough to give her her gift? Harley doubts she will be given any gifts after this.

"It's not like Ah caused't anyway." Looking down, she bites her trembling lower lip. What if he had forgotten her? And on Valentine's Day?

"Stupid, foot-shufflin' helpas." What if Puddin' got caught, but did not tell Batman that she was missing? Did he even notice she was gone? "It's _mah_ day! Ah'm tah Valentine! "

Her cheeks felt wet and messy as big droplets poured out of her eyes. _Ah bet Ah look a mess._ Harley laughed out. _No-good for a Valentine._ Harley  thought in indignation.

She continued weeping until she fell asleep.

 

Harley could not figure out what time it was the next time around. All she knew was that her stomach ached.

She coughed, only to flinch back at the dry pain in her throat. Rubbing her lips together was meaningless; her mouth was a desert. It hurt. When was the last time she had eaten? When was the last time she had drunk anything? She missed drinking cold water. Her stomach growled painfully.

Gazing around, the place looked the same as always. Being stuck there felt like an eternity in and of itself. She lets her cheek rest against the dusty floor. The whizzing noise had decreased. _Must'ave run out o'batteries._ Her head still hurt. Whatever sounds were left made Harley feel as though she was lying under an airplane preparing for take-off.

 _Puddin'?_ He had still not shown up. She missed him.

 

He had forgotten her before.

 

Every other time that happened - the Joker leaving her behind - Harley had somehow dug, blown, or tricked her way out just in time to rejoin the race. When she was too slow, she just got arrested for a while before busting out grandiosely. Blazing sirens have practically become her theme song by now.

All that being said, Harley was not used to silence. It made her think. The problem with her mind was that it was never truly silent, and when she could not move or talk the excess energy away, the self-analysis began. It made her automatically unveil uncomfortable truths. Like how the Joker had not once helped her when he did not need her aid.

And he does not need Harley now that his plan has been set into motion, however rocky the path.

It hurt.

The weight was crushing her. Harley's forehead was heating up, and she could just not find a comfortable position to lie in. Flinging her head from side to side, trying to breathe. _'E doesn't need me. _ The words were playing on repeat; drowning out all of the mental chatter.

She must be coming down with a fever. Has she caught a cold? Harley could not figure out if the place was cold or not. Factories usually are. _What time is it?_ February. _That's not a time._

Her headache was getting worse.

It all hurts so _much._

Gasping for air, her throat stung. Her back was sore. Her legs had fallen asleep. Static coursed through her feet as she tried to move them. Her eyes hurt too. Why is the floor so wet?

"Why isn't'e back yet?!", Harley slammed the side of her fist into the chunks of the floor - the ceiling? - trapping her. "Puddin'!" Her deep yells felt like they were tearing her throat tissue to bloodied ribbons. "This isn't a joke, Puddin'!" She kept hitting it and hitting it until it felt like her metacarpals were fracturing.

Fatigue quickly overcame her. She weakly gave one last hit, gaze searching through the red sky. "Don't y'need meh anymore?" Harley let her arm slowly drop down to lie flat beside her head. _Don't y'love meh anymore?_

_ 'E doesn't love meh. _

Harley started bawling. An ugly, messy kind of weeping where snot runs down your nose so you have to wipe it over and over and over again until your nose turns red, and your eyes turn puffy. The open-mouthed, eyebrow-pinched, forehead-wrinkling type of sorrow.

"'E doesn't love meh", Harley whispered. She wanted to shout, but her throat hurt almost as much as her ribcage. "Why doesn't 'e love meh?" She asked no one. Even if there happened to be someone, it would be impossible for her to see them; her vision was too blurry.

Stuttering breaths, gasping for air, bottom lip trembling.

"Ah want'im t'die."

Harley meant it. She would rather have him killed than be abandoned. She wanted him dead. Cold dead. Shot down. Gone. Forgotten. Destroyed.

_ Let'im suffer like Ah do. _

"Ah want'im t'die!", it was barely a shout. Harley closed her eyes as she kept shaking uncontrollably. Kicking into thin air, uncaring of the needle-stabbing pain travelling up her legs and spine. She was fighting an invisible enemy.

Harley kept crying until she could not anymore.

 

When her tears dried up, and she was lying down silently looking up at the darkening sky, Harley realised something:

_ Ah don't love'im anymore. _

Harley sniffled.

Her head hurt.

 

It was pitch black. Harley had been drifting in and out of a light sleep when she snapped awake to the sound of items being shuffled around.

The fluttering of fabric, the pitter patter of small feet along with the quiet thuds of heavier boots. Harley barely managed to care. Maybe they had water? She did not know if she wanted to drink it. _Ibuprofen on tah otha hand,_ Harley would gladly accept that. _Unless Ah 'ave a concussion._ Her mind supplied.

The tiny footsteps came closer.

"Found someone!"

 It was a light sound. A young voice Harley recognized. _The bat brat._ Harley glanced at the outline of his figure, as he warily kept his distance. Guarding her like a puppy-dog. _A good boy._ Harley started what was once a chuckle, before it turned into a violent coughing fit. It felt like her throat was being torn out by a slow claw machine.

Then she saw a big figure who had the nerve to shine a tiny flashlight right in her face. She sneered at it with eyes clenched shut.

"Harley Quinn."

Spoken like a statement. As though she would not know her own name. Harley had never liked Batman.

"Tah uhn ahnd only." Harley tried to sound chipper, but the voice came out weak; fatigue overshadowing intent.

"Check for injury.", he was commanding the brat.

As the kid was checking her legs for fractures and lower midsection for possible internal bleeding, Batman reached over to look for head trauma. As he carefully moved his hand over to open up an eyelid, Harley snapped at him, swatting his hand away.

"Ah'm awake anhd fine!"

Batman quickly moved back, waiting. The kid, however, was not as quick. During her outburst, Harley had managed to knee him in the side. Groaning, he backed off as soon as she moved her leg, unpinning him from the rubble. Quietly, Robin waited a while before resuming his task. _Stubborn brat._

When Batman started to, Harley refused to let him any nearer.

"Stahp't right there, Ah 'ave sum questions fo'ya." She needed to know.

Keeping her eyes narrowed down on Batman, Harley clenched her jaw as she waited.

The dark silhouette put his hand out for what she presumed to be Robin. Having finished his check-ups, the kid nodded to Batman, before backing away from Harley. She had no major injuries.

Harley could not deny that having those prying fingers gone was nice. That thing physicians tend to do where they poke you roughly in different sensitive areas never was comfortable for her. A necessary nuisance, but thoroughly unwelcome.

Eventually, Batman turned back to her and nodded.

"Where's t'Joka?"

Batman did not answer.

"Do y'ave tah Joka?"

He stood still. Stoic as always. Waiting to see why she was asking those questions to figure out any possible plans Harley might have. It made her _angry._

The bat brat was the teller. The light shuffling of his feet could be heard even from here. Batman barely flinched.

A moment of silence persisted.

They just looked at each other. The big black bat and her. Even Robin was still.

"Why won't yah kill 'im?"

That got Batman moving. A slight falter of composure.

"Y'eard meh right! Why won't y'kill 'im?!"

Harley was shouting for all that she had. Coughing after each sentence.

"Just kill'im ahlready!"

He had abandoned her. All this time, he had abandoned her. _Again._

Harley is so done with him. She has had enough of this already. The fun is over. Gone. Dead. He might as well be too.

"Kill. 'Im", she wheezed out, before having to catch her breath.

Focusing on her breathing, she tried to calm down. She was too tired for this.

"Get m'out'o'ere." A weak request. She was still out of breath.

Silently, Batman and Robin began lifting up the rubble off of her. Each piece made her feel a bit lighter, but they had to be careful not to shift the weight too unevenly; Harley might get crushed.

She never did understand why they were so adamant about helping the bad guys. But right now, she did not care.

 

By the time she was out, it was almost morning.

Harley attempted to move at first, but a gloved hand stopped her. It did not touch her, just having the palm face her was enough. Batman had a way to communicate without words that even she had to admire.

"We've contacted the paramedics", gruff voice as usual. _Does'e use a device f'that?_ "They will be here shortly." _With t'police_ , past experiences added.

She was starting to make out the costumes now. Blacks and yellows and greens. They were a peculiar pair. A bad sight for sore eyes.

Batman was turning to leave, Robin already swiftly climbing and vaulting up the walls.

"Wait", Harley lightly grasped his cape. Batman stopped.

"Ah want'im gone," she was drifting out of consciousness. "Not Arkh'm," Harley closed her eyes, head lulling to the side. "Too m'ny mem'ries."

She fell asleep, hand releasing the cape and falling down to the ground. Reaching for nothing.

 

"Is this really okay?"

Uncertainty laced every word as Robin looked away from Arkham Asylum. The sirens had stopped blazing, and the paramedics were loading the clown associate out of the ambulance. She was still unconscious.

Crouching down at the rooftop, Robin looked back as the paramedics rolled her up the pathway, stopping only to show their identification cards. Pushing the stretcher into Arkham, the gates closed behind them.

"I mean", Robin stood back up, slightly shivering. It was a windy night. "She didn't want to be there, right?" Head turning back and forth between Bruce and the asylum, then stopping to look at Bruce.

There was a moment of silence.

"She will be fine now."

Robin looked down at his feet, then back to Arkham. _I guess I'll have to trust the old man,_ Robin sighed as he turned to join Batman on his way home.

Their mission was over.

 

Few weeks later, Robin stumbled upon a file marked "Harleeen Quinzel" while searching through the archives for Harvey Dent. Deciding that Two-Face could wait, he grabbed the beige folder and jumped down the ladder.

Making himself comfortable on the armchair, Robin started flipping through the papers. Bruce was thorough with his research: Inside there was everything from previous occupations, to hobbies, to the names of her "babies": _Bud and Lou, eh?_ Humming to himself, Robin munched on one of the cookies he had brought with him - a whole baker's dozen on a platter - as he glanced through Harley's Arkham profile.

That was when he did a double take.

Putting the cookie back down on the plate, briefly wiping his mouth, Robin's gaze was fixated on Harley's Arkham facility containment history. Flipping back to look for where exactly she had worked, then forth to where she had been kept, and back again to look through her and Joker's escape routes, he realised something.

"She's kept in a completely different area."

Robin smiled to himself as he finally understood what made Bruce so sure that Harley would be fine. _Trust isn't that bad after all, huh._ That calls for a celebratory cookie bite. But, _wait. What's the time?_

Looking up at the grandfather clock, Robin almost choked. Coughing, he hit his chest to get any crumbs stuck in his throat out, before quickly scrambling up the ladder to put the file neatly back into place.

_Harvey, Harvey, Harvey..._

His fingers were brushing along the files as he tried to find the one Bruce had asked for.

"Gotcha!"

Running out of the cosy library, Robin managed to turn off the warm-white lights on his way out.

The plate of uneaten cookies was left on the table.

Alfred was only partially pleased.

**Author's Note:**

> My first work on AO3. Shoutout to WedoMorrison (metalwurm) for making me realise that you can create hover boxes.
> 
> On another note, which Robin could the little fellow in this fic be?
> 
> Please do write a comment on your way out; I'd really appreciate it!


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